Moments build a Romance
by moonshoespotter n.n
Summary: These will be cute one or two shots to help break my writers block - fluff alert   pairings are : mystrade, johnlock, mormor : This summary and title are quite awful. Inside there is marshmallowy goodness I swear!
1. office

**AN:**

**Hi! These are just gonna be cute little one or two shots to pull me out of writers block :) hope you like them 3 . **

Mycroft almost fell into the flat he shared with his fiancé, Gregory Lestrade, weighed down by various governmental files he was sure to be up late signing. Greg wasn't home. They were never usually in the flat at the same time due to their manic jobs, but this just made the time they had together all the more magical. Mycroft stumbled into his office and deposited the pile of paper onto his sumptuous wooded desk. Then, with thoughts of a glass of wine before he settled to work, padded to the kitchen in search of the bottle of wine he and Greg had only drunk half of the night before. Rubbing the ache in his lower back obtained by sitting in tedious meeting all day Mycroft poured himself a generous glass of 1952 sauvignon blanc (not the nicest wine he had but it did the job.) The 'British Government' shuffled back to his office and proceeded to get the files dealt with; he'd send them off to Coventry first thing. About 3 hours into the morning, Greg flopped home and immediately checked if Mycroft was still working. Sliding into his office the DI draped himself over the younger man and, kissing and nipping his neck, whispered: "come to bed honey."

"You know I'd love to, but this is of..."

"National importance I know , but you need to sleep. For me?" Mycroft sighed, oh that did feel good. He loved it when Greg's voice was husky with tiredness. "I suppose I could get Anthea to summarise these for me. I don't want to be turning into my brother." He reasoned . he got up from his desk and turned to slide his arms around his lovers neck.

"How was your day?" they made a point of asking this to each other as often as they could.

"The usual. Sally and Anderson tittered away, while Sherlock gave me some thumbs back form the lab that he'd stolen from the lab 'for an experiment', because John had found them and made him apologise."

"Ugh I'll have to keep a closer eye on him."

"Don't worry about that now Myc, can we not talk about Sherlock right now?" and continued his assault on Mycroft's neck. "yessss." Mycroft hissed, Tipping his head backwards in pleasure. "Bath?" he suggested, his back aching, the hot water would soothe it. Along with Greg's hands that were now sliding up and down his sides , slipping under his shirt.

"Mmm yeah" Greg smiled. "But can we bring the wine with us? You look rather sophisticated like that."

"Anything for you dear." Mycroft whispered and they walked into their bathroom, all the time not breaking contact with each other.

**hope you liked it guys! rate , review , follow. whatever. These will go on for a bit, just something to write for inspiration. Lots of fluff to fangirl over. **

** I aint even mad. **

-AA


	2. When you come home

Jim flounced into the whitewashed flat,  
>throwing himself down violently upon the newly upholstered leather couch. (Recently cleaned of blood when he and Sebbie had gotten a little out of hand with a new plaything)<br>He was bored. The consulting criminal had not slept for a total of 72 hours and his mind would not shut up. It was filled with possibilities. How would he burn Sherlock? Through John, obviously. But what was the best way to cause maximum pain? He needed a sounding board to bounce ideas off, he called out for Sebastian but no answer came...Of course, he'd sent him to Amsterdam last week to dispose of a certain circle of men that had become irrelevant. Ugh he was still sooooo bored.  
>The consulting criminal's eyes drifted to Seb's case of rifles he kept in the corner of their lounge, one rifle shaped space told Jim that Seb wouldn't be gone too long maybe just long enough...<br>When the exhausted sniper returned to the flat 3 hours later he found Jim curled up in the foetal position down in the basement, gun in hand. He was high.  
>Again.<br>"Jim, Jim? JAMES!" Sebastian was pulling Jim into the recovery position, trying to pry the gun from his hands.  
>"Sebbie!" The man laughed, tears still streaming from his eyes. "You're back! You know I thought you'd left me." He sobbed. "Jim, I wouldn't leave, I couldn't, you know that." Moving Jim's handgun away from his now shaking frame he picked up the fragile man and padded upstairs to their plush, white couch, setting Jim down gently.<br>"Sebbie? Won't you tell me a story?"  
>Sebastian sighed fondly at this immature man, lolling on their couch and began, wondering if he was more than just a carer to Jim. "Once there was a Queen, a prince and the prince's knight. They were all very happy in their own world, they would laugh and laugh, and sometimes the queen would send the prince and his knight to other parts of the kingdom where they would run around on adventures. Then one day a mighty dragon showed up. He was the finest dragon in the whole kingdom, and the cleverest because he could talk. He and his hunter friend invited the prince and his knight down to the lake where the nasty prince tried to slay the dragon because the dragon had tempted the weak knight. Luckily his tiny sword was no match for Mr. Dragon's hunter friend's arrows and both the Knight and the prince were soon dead on the floor. The queen was very sad and cried all alone in her chamber room. But she had to learn that if you mess with the fierce dragon then soon his hunter will get rid of everyone you love."<br>Seb glanced down at his sleeping dragon and let him lie. His strong arms wrapped around the smaller man and carried him to his bed. Setting him down the sniper wondered at how vulnerable the consulting criminal looked his black hair and rosy cheeks from crying contrasted against the cream, silken sheets. He wondered too at how people couldn't see that really he was just a frightened boy, frightened of himself. Sebastian was reminded of the first honest words Jim had said to him; while they were lying on a rooftop somewhere in soho in the pouring rain having just killed two men and celebrated accordingly. Sebastian had asked why the genius was with him (marvelling at how he wasn't bored by now.) Jim had whispered into his neck: "Our life together was the only home I ever really had."


	3. The 5 senses of James Moriarty

**A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a while, busy with school. (Damn you exams) but thankyouthankyouthankyou for the lovely reviews! **

**This is unbeta-ed and may be a little OOC sorry but I love this pairing so much. There will soon be some Johnlock don't you worry. But here's a little something to tide you over. *kisses* - AA**

James Moriarty, the most dangerous criminal mastermind you would ever meet, opened his eyes and sighed.  
>It wasn't one of those sighs he'd use when he was boooooored, bored of life, bored of people, bored of being here. Those were short, angry sighs with hands all over the place and a pained expression on his face; it was a sigh that moved his entire body: eyes closed, heave in, and exhale. It was a deeply relaxing and contented sigh.<br>He was currently enmeshed in fluffy white sheets that had been clean on the night before (and would probably need cleaning again after last night.) He gradually became aware of the rest of his body and the soft cotton sheets rubbing against his upper thigh and neck where he'd pulled them up against the cold in the night, the sheets around his midriff were thrown aside however. He had his sniper to warm him against the chilly London air, strong legs curled around his waist made sure of that. Seb radiated heat 24/7; he was Jim's personal space heater. The genius supposed he got it from being on cold rooftops constantly, he'd adapted. James felt Sebastian's hot breath warm on the nape of his neck and was glad of it. He liked to know the man was close.  
>Jim breathed in the smells of the room. The pollution in the night air from the window they'd left open, the salmon he'd cremated in an attempt to make dinner and the Thai food they'd eventually ordered, and he could smell the smell of sex and sweat and Seb's cologne and his slightly spicy scent. Maybe it was his shampoo. Jim made a reminder to keep a perpetual supply of it.<br>The room was silent (In contrast to last night when it was filled with soft moans graduating to stuttered words "please." "God, yes" which turned into almost screams of passion.) Now all he could hear was Seb's regular breaths. Strong and steady and confident like the man himself, they were slow and measured, never wavering from their path. The birds cheeping were just a shame. It disturbed his peace. Another reminder: shoot birds. Then all at once "AND YOU CAN TELL BY THE WAY I WALK MY WALK, I'M A WOMAN'S MAN, NO TIME TO TALK." Ugh his ring tone. Who was phoning him now? He leaned up on his elbow and reached over to see. A policeman he'd corrupted, probably worried about being found out, he was quite tan so he'd make a good pair of shoes Jim thought as he silenced the phone.  
>"Hmmm, Jim?" Sebastian had been roused by the stupid phone call, a shame; Jim had liked watching the man sleep. Not creepily, obviously. Awake, Sebastian was all clenched fists and tensed muscles; like this he looked innocent and stress less, his skin glowed brown from laying on rooftops and his expression was one of complete bliss. He loved seeing Seb like this, his golden crop of hair deliciously tussled, although he felt slightly guilty that he couldn't make Seb more relaxed in the daytime. He laughed softly to himself at the irony. Jim killed people (well had them killed,) made them into shoes, committed the most audacious crimes yet the only thing, the only man, that could make him feel anything was ex corp. Seb Moran. With sunlight streaming through the gap in the blind casting a mellowed light across the room: Sebastian's skin contrasted exquisitely. Jim could've taken him right there.<br>James himself was brought out of his reverie by soft, pink lips grazing his in a lazy kiss. "Jim what are you thinking of? You've got that look." Jim smiled into those inquisitive, hard, blue eyes and licked his lips. Sebastian tasted of coffee from the night before and peppermint where he had brushed his teeth; there was something different though, under the peppermint. It tasted of London, smoke. Jim deduced Seb had started smoking again and enjoyed the thought of Sebastian smoking on their balcony once more. It made him look utterly gorgeous. There was also something else. It was spicy and exotic and dangerous, it was Seb. Jim loved it. Jim loved Seb.

"What look do I have Sebby daaaarling?" Jim inquired.

"The look you get when you're watching a building burn or like when you played the CCTV of Sherlock's funeral. Coffee? " Sebastian answered whilst getting up out of bed, ignoring Jim's indignant squeals, and sauntering into the kitchen. Jim followed him and snaked his arms around the taller man's waist as he chopped melon for breakfast (The Consulting Criminal's favourite.) he rested his head on Sebastian's shoulder blades and spoke into the silence.

"I love you Sebby."

The occupants of the flat next door would then hear the surprised cry of The Consulting Criminal as his bedfellow chopped the tip of his finger off in the sheer shock of James Moriarty admitting to such a weakness, and if they had been in the flat half an hour later they would see The Sniper kissing Jim's fingertips as he bandaged them in gauze and whispering "I love you too James."


	4. Drunk hobbit sized men

**A/N – Hey there, feel like I haven't updated in so long- I have a few stories in the works now so hopefully they'll be up after exams and finally the promised Johnlock arrives, you were starting to think I was a MorMor whore weren't you (I totally am) anyway- to fluff and beyond! **

"Sherly , sherly , sherly ."  
>John had been muttering for the last 20 minutes while Sherlock had extracted him from the inferno of the club and poured him into a cab. <p>

They arrived at 221b baker street considerably worse for wear (well John did) where Sherlock stuck up the stairs perching a swaying john on his shoulders, trying not to wake Mrs Hudson. She would hunt them down and eat them if she did not get the 10 hours she needed; as they'd found out several nights ago when Sherlock couldn't contain himself in the hallway. The woman had no shame.

The crime fighting duo wound up toppling onto their bed in a crumpled heap, all arms and legs. Sherlock propped himself up on an elbow and raised an eyebrow at the giggling man below him.  
>" Sherly , john , is a woman's name . And I should hope for your sake as well as mine that I am most definitely not a woman. "<br>At which point the stocky man leant up , snaked a hand behind his slender neck and kissed him hotly , all tongues and teeth .  
>"Mmhhmm. Definitely not a woman. "<br>The reason the doctor was so bladdered was that he had let himself be duped into participating in one of his flatmate's experiments (again) .  
>The plan was to get john drunk using only WKD , the choice drink of a certain killer in a case , to determine how long it would take for him to reach a 1.7 blood alcohol level . But during his night at 'the flaming flamingo' John had gotten tired and replaced it with the hard stuff , chucking White Russians down like there was no tomorrow, while the consulting detective watched with a wry smile . He knew how John got when pissed. And he loved that John, very much indeed. After an intense night of dancing, grinding and the hottest leather pants john had laid eyes on; they were both so hot for each other that just a look into either pair of eyes was enough to call to attention their already half hard dicks.<p>

"You are so hot for me right now." John exclaimed, spying his lovers need. "What tells you that my dear?" Crooned the detective. "Observe." He demanded, in a voice dripping with seduction.  
>"Well, your pulse is higher than normal" john whispered into the detective's ear, leaning in. "Your pupils dilated." He said, kissing his eyelids. "You have a veerrrry attractive flush on your face and neck" the doctor murmured, ghosting kisses across Sherlock's collar bone. "And the unmistakable sign of the rather large bulge in those ridiculous trousers" fingering the edge of them.<br>"A perfectly sound analysis John, but I was hoping you'd go deeper."

At that point john leapt on Sherlock, and while straddling his hips, trailed kisses down his jaw and neck. He proceeded to undo his favourite tailored trousers and banish them to the other side of the room then slowly, tortuously undid the buttons on The Purple Shirt and slid it carefully off the Detective's toned back. "Ngghh, John" whimpered Sherlock, leaning forward into john's touch. "Ah ah ah Sherly dear, all in good time". The good doctor leant forward and gently pushed Sherlock down onto the bed and trailed small nips and kisses down from his protruding collarbones to the most elegant belly button he'd seen (if belly buttons could be elegant)

The consulting detective arched into his touch and gasped. "Doctor Watson you are wearing far too many clothes right now." Sherlock leaned forward and almost tore John's new shirt off his tanned back, shimmying down his body and undoing his belt with his teeth no less. John's breath was stolen by the astounding view of his flatmate's mystical eyes watching his as his teeth worked on pulling off his boxers. It really was very arousing. So John took Sherlock by the arms and roughly flipped him over. "You don't get to be that adorable and not get punished." He growled, smacking Sherlock sharply on the behind, drawing a loud moan from him which turned him on even more. John grabbed the secreted lube they kept in their bedside cabinet and prepared Sherlock curling his fingers so he bucked up, trying to draw John into himself even more. John quickly thrusted into Sherlock making him cry out at the unexpected intrusion. He moved slowly at first luxuriating in the hot tightness of his lover and enjoying the writhing body beneath him until it whispered : "faster John, faster."

John complied and soon they were both on the brink of ecstasy, Sherlock gasped "ah John" as wave upon wave of bliss rolled upon him, the sight of his damp curls pushed back from his face and the flush on his cheeks bringing on the white lights for the army doctor. Minutes later when they had regained their breath Sherlock muttered : "must do that experiment much more frequently."

"What was that Sherlock?"

"oh you know the whole leather trousers effect on hobbit sized men."

"Yes that worked out rather well."

"mhhm, seemed to work on Sebastian in college...just testing if it was just him. Apparently not"

John propped himself up on one elbow, staring incredulously. "Sherloock?"

Who subsequently burst into fits of giggles.

**I like to think that a tickle fight ensues sorry for not updating for ages guys, exams and all but they're winding down for a week until they get really hard so there probably won't be an update until they're finished. Sorry Guys **

**Hope the Johnlock makes up for it ! *kisses***

**-AA**


	5. I'm not your cute little sex toy

**AN: I haven't updated in ages but I have some spare time now so expected more Another MorMor but I just love writing this couple so much, they're my favourite. I'm not even sorry. This is not a songfic but is based on the song I'm not your boyfriend baby by 30h!3 and in the POV of Sebastian. **

**I sincerely hope you like it. **

**AA**

Corp. Sebastian Moran had never had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend for that matter. Sure the occasional fuck to keep him satisfied but never something for more than 48 hours. Not even in high school. Girls would fall over themselves to twirl their hair at him and flutter their eyelashes and he'd even catch some of the boys staring for a while too long. He'd just smirk and lean back into his chair amidst his gang, who also sat looking unattainable. The only difference was that Sebastian was unattainable.

This was how he'd lived his whole life , alone. Contendedly alone; that's why he had chosen his profession. No one ever bothered him. That was until Jim. Who had offered him a ridiculously overpaid job that he took so he could continue, unmolested. However, Mr. Moriarty didn't seem to have got that memo. He texted Sebastian on the job with things like: "nice arse, I can see it from here. Xxxx" Or: "aren't you cold? It's practically snowing!xxxx"

Sebastian would always just read them, tsk, and carry on with honing in on the target. It didn't bother him too much, just left him slightly irritated. Until James Moriarty started arriving unannounced at his flat and commented on the decor, his choice of coffee, the bed sheets, anything really. He just meandered round and passed judgment on Sebastian's life casually, as if this happened all the time. At first he was pissed at this invasion of his home and shouted at Jim to get out, surprisingly, the first time he obliged. But insisting on his exit seemed to redouble the efforts James Moriarty took to annoy Sebastian Moran. He'd find post it's with notes like "Don't wear these. Ever. I'll buy you a new suit." in his wardrobe and the next day a band new John Hart suit would appear and his favourite ripped jeans would be gone. He dug his phone out of his pocket and texted his boss  
>"what the hell are you doing? Those are my favourite jeans! You think I can <em>work<em> in a fancy suit?"

"I'm improving you Sebastian, I expect you to learn."

Seb sighed, with a boss like Jim Moriarty he supposed he'd better get used to it, after all the man did hire the best sniper on the northern hemisphere.  
>The visits gradually became routine and instead of ignoring Jim, Sebastian would make him a share of whatever Seb decided to eat that night, Jim leaving afterwards and off handedly thanking him. Seb had a sneaking suspicion the man wouldn't feed himself if left to his own devices.<br>Then one night Jim stayed after dinner and through to Seb's film time. He had a collection of films spanning the size of the wall and took great pride in them. Tonight was James Bond: Diamonds are forever. Halfway through, Jim had curled into Sebastian's side and closed his eyes. He looked so vulnerable in that moment that Seb couldn't resist putting his arm around Jim. If only to protect him. They stayed like that until the film was over. Jim awoke whilst Sebastian was dozing and lightly nudged his neck with his nose. When Seb ignored him he climbed over Seb's body so he was straddling the man and bit his shoulder "Seb, wake up!" Sebastian still shifted away from the annoyance and groaned, "fuck off m'tryna sleep"  
>"Well you can't I'm boreed, you're being boooorriing" Seb's eyes snapped open and came to rest on the light figure of Jim sitting across his lap. When their eyes finally met, Jim leant forward and caught Sebastian's lips in a kiss to which Sebastian returned by pulling Jim down onto the sofa and planting his hands firmly on Jim's tight arse. "Shall we move this to the bedroom?" James asked seductively, and who was Sebastian to refuse? It wasn't like he hadn't noticed his boss' finely cut suits and what good shape he was in underneath them. Plus it had been a while he thought as he let Jim pull him into the small bedroom.<p>

In the morning Seb was surprised to see that Jim was still there with his arm flung across his chest, claiming him. As Seb moved slowly out of bed and stepped into the shower he wondered why. His surprise was doubled when he re entered the bedroom to find Jim sitting up in bed with the sheets pooled around his waist, casually flicking through Seb's copy of 'Ana Karenina'  
>"Hey, didn't know you liked Tolstoy"<br>"Yeah, well sitting on cold rooftops needs a distraction"  
>"Heh, you have a day off today right?"<br>"Yeah" Sebastian wondered why his boss was even asking, he set the jobs.

And was he _blushing_?  
>"Want to go for dinner tonight then?"<br>Oh what the hell, his rule was 48 hours and so far it had only been 12. "Okay" Jim suddenly perked up and sprang out of bed to make coffee. "Good, wear that John Hart I bought you. I'll pick you up at 7" he rushed. "Who knew it'd be that easy to get a boyfriend?" Sebastian heard waning signals. Commitment, boyfriend, love. These were dangerous distractions. He quickly strode over to Jim, grabbed his jaw and pulled him into an intense kiss. Pulling away, he looked at Jim: heart rate elevated, pupils dilated, kiss bruised lips, flushed cheeks and slightly breathless. He leaned in close to Jim's ear and whispered "I'm not your boyfriend, baby."


	6. Headlights are beacons on the highway

_**A Movie Script Ending **_

_**Hi guys! I'm so excited about this one, so I hope it's good. It's based on a song by Death Cab for Cutie called A Movie Script Ending (: Pairing: Mystrade. **_

Since DI Lestrade's divorce was finalised he'd been slowly slipping down a road of self destruction. Greg had finally given into Sherlock's persistent offers of a cigarette despite having quit and had been drinking more than usual, just to forget losing his kids. Eventually he became Sherlock's binge buddy, going out and drinking way too much the night before work. He even occasionally shot up alongside Sherlock although not frequently; his law enforcing instinct too strong to develop a habit. He felt guilty 'cause he had taken up the mantle of looking after this drug addled genius. Sure he still got to see Emily and Jessica one day every weekend but that was way too little, paired with the fact that his ex had got herself a new boyfriend – _Pete. _But then Sherlock went and got himself his very own knight in shining armour: ex army Capt. John Watson. Soul mates if Greg had ever seen them, this just reminded him of his own failed marriage and drove him deeper into the self loathing he was wallowing in.

At least he had the weekends, so this was how he came to be sitting in his daughters' room having just read them a story complete with scary dragon voice and all when they both piped up: "Daddyyyy...? Can we have a drink?"

"Sure kids, I'll get you some water now." Greg started, getting up.

"No daddy, can we have coke?" Emily piped up, Greg laughed. Why would she even think to ask, they obviously weren't allowed coke before bed. No way.

"No sweetie, its water or nothing I'm sorry."

"But Pete lets us have coke!" Oh did he now? _Pete_ let them have coke so they would be up all night asking for coke when he knew it was a stupid idea, it would rot their teeth for god's sake! "No Jessica, I said water or nothing. Now you have water so go to sleep. Not another word from you. Okay? Now goodnight. I love you."

"Love you daddy." They chorused but Greg could hear them talking about how they'd have coke tomorrow night with _Pete_ and Mummy. He clenched his jaw and resolved to confront the p.e teacher about it when he came to pick the girls up the next day but when he did Imogen (the girls' mother) waved it away. "It's fine Greg, don't be so uptight." Uptight? UPTIGHT? Rich coming from the woman who once screamed at him for a good half hour for not replacing the toilet roll last year. But the DI swallowed his qualms and replied with: "Just don't come crying when they lose their teeth."

After work he was still feeling shitty so he drove straight to his favourite bar: McLarens. No one from the yard ever went there – peace at last. He propped himself against the bar and asked the barmaid for a Speights old dark while his eyes scanned the familiar room for a more private place to drown his sorrows. He decided to stay at the bar for a few more pints and only moved to a darker booth when scotch was introduced. As he sat down he noticed someone in the opposite chair to his. "oh sorry, I'll find..."

"Gregory Lestrade?" He recognized that authoritative tone immediately, the only 'minor government official' he knew "Mr. Holmes?"

"Mycroft, please." the man sat in his full – finely cut and fitting to his trim torso - suit in the dark corner of McLarens of all places nursing a Chimay. "What're you doing here?" Greg stuttered, the drink making him more impertinent that he usually would be."I find it less likely to meet ah... acquaintances I'd rather not in bars such as this. Also the atmosphere is rather quaint I find."

"Um right, I'll just" Greg got up to find somewhere else to sit. Point taken. Why would someone as fancy and used to fine company as Mycroft Holmes want to sit with a lowly DI and a drunk one at that.

"No, please. Stay, I could use some company." His expression was different from usual, maybe it was just the drink but he looked... sad. "Okay, I will. Thanks Mycroft."

By the time last orders were called Greg was royally smashed. At first he and Mycroft had exchanged a pleasant conversation about work and Sherlock's new 'friend' John but by the end he was rather enjoying the atmosphere of the warm pub and the songs drifting across the room from a lone radio at the end of the bar. "I believe in miracles, where you from, you sexy thing" Greg mumbled along under his breath with Mycroft's arm stopping him from falling over into the booth. Greg, feeling rather sleepy, felt endeavoured to tell Mycroft exactly how he felt. He turned in Mycroft's arms, his face inches from the government official's mask of dispassion. "Mycroft, why are you here?"

"I told you..."

"No, why are you here, with me?"

"Because I do not want you to fall into harm's way Gregory."

"But why Mycroft, so I can still look after Sherlock? He has John now." Mycroft paused, opened his mouth as if to say something then pursed his lips and turned his head imperceptibly toward Greg.

"Ah the Ice Man, stumped." He smiled, eyelids drooping "C'mon My, you're _always_ so unbreakable and strong. I've admired that of you for a long time you know, admiring from afar. I've always liked you." He drawled, skimming his hands over the tweed waistcoat and laying his head on his chest, he could hear his heartbeat. "hmm You sexy thing." Greg noticed a change in the younger man's breathing under his fine suit and turned his face up toward Mycroft's again who had a strange expression on his face. Then all at once Mycroft leant down and kissed Greg softly, the man's lips moving gently and exerting a slight dominant pressure, taking Greg's breath completely away.

Before he passed out.

When the DI came to, his eyes bleary, he was travelling. Those bleary eyes gradually picked out blurry, orange lights whizzing past – beacons of warmth. Physically warm, Lestrade could feel it curling around his spine, on the back of his neck, brushing lightly through his hair. This brought him out of his drunken reverie, the soft fingers running through his hair, fully awake now he remembered what had happened before he had slumped against the soft leather of the booth.

"Hello, back with us now are you?"

"Hi" Greg cleared his throat "Sorry, you can drop me off here, I'll walk I don't want to be a burden." He groaned and straightened up to sit properly.

"I wouldn't hear of it Gregory." Mycroft responded, concerned now, he placed a hand on the small of his back. "Of course I will escort you home. It is the least I can do."

"I feel like I should be the one doing you a favour. After being a mess back there, sorry about that."

"On the contrary Gregory it is I whom should apologise to you for making such an inappropriate advance. I am sorr..."

"No no, Mycroft, that was, I mean I didn't. It was lovely." Mycroft stopped and stared. How could the dishy Detective inspector want him - the 'Ice man.' He'd said it himself. Who could ever want an emotional cripple like him? He was just being polite surely. "That's okay Gregory , you don't have to be polite."

"Polite? I'm not being polite. I meant everything I said at McLarens. I admire you and have for a while. I think you're a very attractive man Mycroft, talented too. But I understand if you think this is pathetic I mean why would you want to be with a DI like me?"

"Gregory I do not think it's pathetic at all. In fact I rather return the sentiment." Spurred on by the man's small smile Greg moved over and kissed the other man deeply, asking permission into his mouth by running his tongue along white teeth. When it was granted they shared a long languid kiss until they broke away. A small smile on his lips Mycroft kissed Greg's forehead softly; an automatic gesture. "Go to sleep. It'll do your head good."

Greg laid his head on Mycroft's chest and closed his eyes with a warm feeling growing steadily, snaking his arm around Mycroft's waist, he surrendered to sleep. A movie script ending.

_**AN/ So I'm not sure about this one. I may rewrite cause I don't really think I got the hang of this story first time. I just liked the idea and wrote it quite quickly. So any constructive criticisms would be really appreciated thanks! **_

**AA**


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